


drowning

by bestie



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Nonbinary Character, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-23 14:04:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23379151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bestie/pseuds/bestie
Summary: “Asmo,” Aria whispers against his lips, and it sounds like prayer to Asmodeus, something reverent and holy. “Asmodeus.”- spoiler warning for chapters 19 & 20.
Relationships: Asmodeus/Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 103





	drowning

**Author's Note:**

> asmo: *is a total simp for mc*  
> asmo: i love myself FIRST and FOREMOST  
> mc: bitch u sure about that?
> 
> anyways enjoy

Somehow, Asmodeus managed to avoid Satan as he drunkenly stumbled through the house, on the search for Aria’s room. _Stay in bed_ , Satan had told him. Please—who did that guy think he was, talking to his older brother like that? If Asmodeus wanted to find Aria, that’s what he’d do. After all, he’d made such a fool of himself at the bar sniveling like that, ruining his makeup, mumbling all that nonsense. It was pure luck Satan had shown up before he said anything truly embarrassing. He _needs_ to make things up with Aria before his image is forever tarnished in their eyes.

Finally, he finds Aria’s room. The door is unlocked, so Asmodeus doesn’t even think to knock. He swings the door open, opens his mouth to announce himself, but the words die out before he even can.

There stands Aria, back to the door. They’re already in their pajamas—a nightgown Asmodeus had gotten them, in fact; a silky one that was _such_ a pretty pink. They’ve already taken their hair out of their braids, so the red waves spill down their back, hiding the low-cut of the back of the nightgown.

They’re getting ready for bed, Asmodeus realizes. And that means they’re going to sleep, which means they’ll wake up tomorrow, and tomorrow is one day closer to them _leaving_ , and that thought is too much for Asmodeus to handle in his drunken state. His knees wobble and he sinks to the floor, right there in the doorway, with a keening sob.

Aria startles, whirling around. When they realize it’s Asmodeus in their doorway, they look panicked. “A-Asmo?! What are you _doing_ —“

“I-I don’t want you to gooo,” Asmodeus whines, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I thought it was just because with you gone, I’d lose the person I go to parties with, and the person I have sleepovers with, and the person who gives me homework answers and helps me study, but— No, I mean, it _is_ all of that, but it’s…” He groans, burying his face in his hands. His heart pounds away in his chest, feeling like it’s going a mile a minute. “I don’t know, Aria,” he croaks out, and it’s embarrassing, the mess he is again, but he can’t help it. “I-I don’t know why I’m so upset…”

For what feels like forever, there’s only silence. Then Asmodeus hears the creak of the floorboards as Aria crosses the room towards him. A moment later, there are arms wrapping around him, and the scent of perfume — floral, woodsy, warm, _Aria_ — envelops him just as tightly as the arms around him. Lips press against his head in a gentle kiss, before Aria murmurs to him, “Asmo, I’m sorry, but I can’t be the one to tell you how _you_ feel.”

Of course not.

Asmodeus _knows_ , deep down, what’s wrong with him. He knows why just the mere thought of Aria leaving them has him feeling like he’s unable to breathe. Time is nothing but a blur for a demon, especially one that’s lived as long as him, but the future suddenly seems bleak when faced with the thought of not being around Aria. He’s stuck in a hallway that stretches on for seemingly forever, and if he reaches the end of it, opens the door with the secret prize on the other side, what good will it do? It’ll only make things worse. He’d wager money on that.

It infuriates him, almost, that despite his desire to hide everything away and keep it all locked behind that door, Aria still won’t give up on him. Isn’t that what he wants, though? To be unconditionally loved by anyone and everyone? So why does it _hurt_ so much when Aria’s the one to do just that? They should just leave him here to wallow in his misery in the doorway, but they don’t. They won’t.

Aria presses another kiss to Asmodeus’s head, then shifts their hands to grasp under his arms, beginning to ease him up. “Come on,” they say quietly, “up and at ‘em, babe. There’s a bed calling our names.”

With Aria’s coaxing, Asmodeus shuffles his feet over to the bed and lets himself fall onto it with a dull _thump_. Their bed feels like a cloud, smells like a field of flowers—but it’s nothing perfect until he feels the bed dip as Aria sits down beside him. He buries his face in one of the numerous pillows surrounding him, and as he lays there in his misery, sniffling and hiccuping, he feels blanket after blanket being layered on top of him. After three, it stops.

Then there’s fingers weaving through his hair, nails gently scratching at his scalp. Aria hums softly, the same tune Asmodeus likes to hum for them. “You need any water?” they ask.

“No,” says Asmodeus, petulant as a child, “I need _you_.”

Aria chuckles. They smooth over Asmodeus’s hair, graze their fingers down the back of his neck. “That’s okay, too... But I have to go wash my makeup off first, all right? Just relax here, Asmo.”

“Huh? Where are you going? Don’t— don’t go,” says Asmodeus. He turns his head to look at Aria, pouting at them with teary eyes. “I don’t want you to go, Aria…”

“Relax,” says Aria. They lean down, wavy strands of hair cascading down around Asmodeus, tickling his face like feathers. Angelic. Aria hushes him as he sniffles again, fighting the urge to break down in full-blown sobs. Kiss after kiss is peppered across whatever they can reach of Asmodeus’s face, each tear swiped away by a gentle touch. After a final kiss is left upon his lips — one so sweet, so loving, nothing Asmodeus thinks he ought to deserve — they whisper to him, “I’ll just be down the hall. Five minutes, Asmo. I promise.”

“And then you’ll come back,” Asmodeus says, as his arm winds around Aria’s waist, holding them there loosely. “You _have_ to come back,” he repeats, firmer this time, and it doesn’t sound like he’s talking about the bathroom anymore. Is he?

Aria’s smile, even as small as it is, is radiant. Blinding. It’s so bright Asmodeus tears up just looking at them. “Of course I’ll come back,” they say. They pause, bringing their hand up to cup Asmodeus’s cheek, and their smile brightens even further as he nuzzles into their touch. “Babe, what makes you think I’d _ever_ even leave you, anyway?”

One more kiss to his lips, another whispered promise that they’ll be back in the blink of an eye, and then Aria carefully extracts themself from Asmodeus’s hold on them and scampers off to the bathroom. It didn’t sound like they were talking about the bathroom anymore, either.

He wants to stay awake, spend every possible moment he can with Aria, but he’s been fighting off sleep for far too long now. Surrounded by the smell of Aria, cozied up underneath their blankets and amongst their pillows and plushies, he can’t resist any longer, and sleep takes him away.

\- - -

It’s a blur, but at some point, Asmodeus is woken up. Aria is gentle, whispering to him the entire time. They sit him up, make him drink water, and it tastes funny—he remembers scrunching his face up, wanting to spit it out, but Aria tells him it’s to help him not feel sick in the morning, so he relents.

They wash his face, too. _Makeup wipes_ , they tell him. They sound annoyed as they mutter to themselves while they work, wondering why Satan hadn’t done this first. And then there’s a slathering of multiple creams and gels on his face, scents familiar to Asmodeus. His routine. Aria must’ve snagged everything from his room. No wonder they took so long. (Not that he’d know, having been asleep, but he’s still grumpy towards them for just _leaving_.)

When it’s all done and over, Asmodeus flops back down onto the bed. He’s already half-asleep again when he feels Aria slip under the blankets. Their chest presses against his back, their arms winding around him. “Love you,” they whisper, their breath tickling his neck.

It feels like a dream.

\- - -

Morning comes and Asmodeus expects a raging headache and a reluctance to so much as move. Instead, he opens his eyes, and he’s greeted by the sight of Aria sleeping peacefully beside him. He has no headache, he’s not sick to his stomach—if he didn’t have the vague recollection of what had occurred the night before, Asmodeus would’ve assumed he’d just had another one of his romps with Aria and that was it. But, no, he remembers just enough to know that not only was there no playful romp between the sheets, but he’d made an absolute _fool_ of himself.

Carefully, he reaches to brush some hair behind their ear. They look like they’re having a good dream. He doesn’t want to disturb them. It’d be easy enough to slip out of bed when they’re sleeping this deeply, but Asmodeus has never done that to them before, and he doesn’t _want_ to start now, even if that would make things easier once Aria’s gone. So he continues to lie there, basking in the warmth of the morning sun and Aria beside him, allowing himself to be content just this once.

Just this once. _Just this once_ , Asmodeus wishes he could say how he feels. It’s so easy to disguise it. He loves their outfit one day, loves their makeup the next. He loves how they do their hair or how they dot their I’s with little hearts. He loves their incessant need to butt into everyone’s business because they just want to _help_ , and he loves how strong they are, how they never back down from anyone or anything. He loves everything about them, so really—doesn’t that mean he loves _them?_

He does. And _now_ he feels sick to his stomach.

“It’s not fair,” Asmodeus whispers, twirling a strand of Aria’s hair around his finger. “I’m supposed to be my own number-one. Who gave you the right to swoop in like that and steal my spot?”

As if in response, Aria shifts with a quiet sigh, snuggling closer to Asmodeus. A moment later, they mumble, “S’not _my_ fault…”

Asmodeus freezes. “Aria… Are you awake?”

They open their eyes slowly, halfway, squinting at Asmodeus against the morning light. “Barely,” they say, and they smile sleepily at him. With a sigh, they stretch their arms up and around Asmodeus’s neck. “I just have a sixth-sense for people talking positively about me. It goes off double-time when it’s you.”

“I have _no_ clue what you’re referring to,” says Asmodeus, immediately shoving everything back behind the door. No need to unpack, no time to—he can mope later, _after_ Aria’s gone. He grins wickedly, one of his hands sliding to Aria’s waist and then lower, lower. His fingers slip under their nightgown, trailing across their upper thigh. “Maybe that sixth-sense of yours is slow right now? I think I should wake you up a bit, darling.”

For a moment, there’s a flash of something on Asmodeus’s face that he never wants to see when he’s in bed with someone: worry. But it’s gone quickly, replaced by a smirk as salicious as his own. Aria draws their leg up as they slide ever closer to Asmodeus, draping it over his hip. “ _This_ early? You’re crazy,” they admonish him lightheartedly. “You of all people know I hate waking up early on weekends.”

“Even if I’m the one waking you up?” Asmodeus asks with a pout. He rolls suddenly, putting himself on top of Aria. Their surprised expression is just too cute; he can’t resist leaning down to give them a kiss. “You know, I’d even call this a reward, but it’d be silly to reward you for something I only dreamt about,” he says as he pulls back, just enough to look Aria in the eye.

They blink. There’s that look on their face again: worry. “What’d you dream about, Asmo?”

“Nothing special,” he says lightly. Eager to get things back on track, his fingers resume their teasing movements, inching closer and closer to their target. “You were just taking care of me, is all.”

“Last night, you mean? The water and the wipes and everything?” says Aria. They frown, drawing back a bit. Asmodeus moves to follow, but they shake their head, quickly moving to sit up. They draw their knees to their chest, putting space between them and Asmodeus. “Asmo, that…wasn’t a dream. You were _really_ drunk, and I was _really_ worried. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so upset before.”

Asmodeus pauses. Not a dream? Then that meant when Aria said they loved him— _that_ wasn’t a dream, either. He was perfectly content to leave it at that: a dream and nothing more. Why did he have to say anything? Knowing it was all real just makes it _worse_.

Heat builds in Asmodeus’s cheeks as he averts his gaze. “I… I’m sorry you had to see me like that,” he says. He laughs, but it’s bitter. “There’s a reason I don’t normally drink that much. Embarrassing, isn’t it?”

“What? No. Babe, _no_ ,” says Aria. “Why are you apologizing? I wasn’t embarrassed, and you shouldn’t be either. There’s nothing wrong with…” They trail off, falling silent for a few seconds, and then they continue, quieter, “Asmo, if you’re going to miss me, it’s _okay_. How do you think I feel about this? It’s not just sunshine and rainbows for me. I mean, I— I _love_ —“

Asmodeus looks up, and Aria looks panicked. They stammer for a moment, then seem to give up, letting out a shaky sigh.

“Sorry,” they mutter, hugging their knees tighter to their chest. “Just…forget I said that.”

Apologizing for loving him. That’s a new one, Asmodeus notes. And it’s his fault too, isn’t it? Always dancing around the subject of love, _romantic_ love; always proclaiming himself as the most important, putting himself even before Aria—something all his brothers have said he’s crazy for. Asmodeus has always been his own number one because he _has_ to be. Giving that up, giving himself to Aria, is such a risk. There’s no telling how it’d go. _Of course_ they’d apologize for something so innocent as love.

And Asmodeus realizes then that he shouldn’t apologize for it either.

Slowly, he crawls forward. “Why are _you_ apologizing now?” he asks, and the lilt in his voice shows he’s not about to be swayed from his intentions. He sets his hands atop Aria’s knees, and coos to them, “Darling, you _never_ should apologize for loving _me._ ”

“Asmo, it’s- it’s not—” Aria starts, but Asmodeus quiets them with merely a shake of his head.

“Hush, darling,” he murmurs, and all it takes is a gentle push of his hands for Aria to give in, their hands falling to their sides as he coaxes their legs open. “No need to explain yourself. It’s _me_ , after all.”

Aria huffs out a laugh, leaning back against the headboard of the bed. “It _is_ you,” they say fondly. There’s something still tense about them, the way their muscles seem too tight, the stiffness in the way they move. But they make no move to stop Asmodeus, merely sitting there, watching him, waiting for him. (Loving him, still.)

Slowly, Asmodeus lowers himself between Aria’s legs. His lips brush against their inner thigh as he tugs aside their underwear. “Tell me, lovely,” he says, kissing closer and closer to his goal. “What do you want this morning?”

Aria lets out a quiet breath. “You,” they say.

Asmodeus has never denied them of that. He smiles, and puts his mouth to work. His fingers, too—opening them up for him, making their legs tremble and their hips twitch. They’re beautiful like this. They’re _always_ beautiful, but Asmodeus finds moments like this, when he’s at his closest with Aria, to be when they’re their most beautiful. He constantly glances up to check on them, and is pleased to see them red-faced, hand covering their mouth to muffle their quiet moans. Aria stares down at him with such an intensity that it only drives him to do better.

He returns his mouth’s focus to their inner thighs, kissing and licking and nipping at them in the way he knows Aria loves. “Don’t hide your voice from me,” he says, glancing back up at them. “You _know_ how much I love it.” And the moment Aria lowers their hand with a pout, Asmodeus smiles up at them and curls his fingers in _just_ the right way that has Aria gasping.

Maybe it’s mean of him, but he loves the way Aria reacts for him. He doesn’t slow down after that, focusing all his attention on the spot that has Aria’s thighs tightening around him, their fingers curling into his hair. It’s Aria that guides his mouth back to its original place, not him, and he loves that about them too. They’re not shy about what they want. (Even when that’s Asmodeus himself.)

Asmodeus always knows when Aria is close because they start to babble. Another thing he loves about them. They praise him and plead for _more_ at the same time, leaving Asmodeus with no choice but to obey. Aria cums around his fingers, grinding against his mouth, with a cry of his name, and Asmodeus feels like his fate is sealed.

He draws himself up, tugging his bottoms and underwear down just low enough around his hips. Aria scrambles forward, legs still a bit wobbly as they climb into his lap. They kiss him like it’s the last time they’ll ever get to as they wrap their hand around him, stroking him slowly. At the same time, they grind against him, and they smile as Asmodeus moans into their kiss, his fingers curling around their hips.

“Asmo,” Aria whispers against his lips, and it sounds like prayer to Asmodeus, something reverent and holy. “ _Asmodeus_.”

They are a shining beacon of light and he is the darkness that swallows them up, taking every last inch of them that he can. Their entire self is like a work of art; it’s all meticulously crafted (or so they’ve told Asmodeus), from the way they speak down to how they _blink_ , and that, in contrast to the way they’re so _bare_ to him now, with no concern for how they must appear, sends a powerful thrill through Asmodeus. All it takes is his fingers to so-thoroughly debauch Aria like this. He brings down their walls like nobody else could. There’s power in that.

And yet, all Aria has to do is _look_ at him, and suddenly Asmodeus feels completely powerless under their eyes.

The way their breath hitches, how their hips roll and they throw their head back as they sink themselves down onto Asmodeus’s cock — it’s _dangerous_ , how much they affect him. They cling to him, pull him in like a siren, and Asmodeus is so deep that he's surely going to drown, but he doesn’t care. He’d sooner drown if that meant he’d get to stay with Aria.

“I love you,” he murmurs against their neck, and Aria gasps, their nails scrabbling against his back as he fills them slower, deeper. “I love you,” he repeats, and the words catch in his throat. “Aria, I…”

He looks up, and Aria’s the one who’s teary-eyed now. They smile at him, radiant as always. Cheeks flushed, lips swollen, hair messy—a work of art. “I love you too, Asmodeus,” they say, barely even a whisper, and before they can say anything else, Asmodeus kisses them, long and slow, conveying how he feels in the way he knows best. It’s soft, languid, something so different from their usual, but he doesn’t hate it, not at all. If anything, he craves more of it.

Asmodeus is as selfish as even his greediest of brothers when it comes to lust, but there’s more to it now, and that’s something both terrifying and utterly intoxicating. _Love._ Such a strong, scary thing. He’ll take his time, worship Aria in return the way they deserve to be. Every cry, every tremor, every sigh — all of it is going to be from _him_. 

When Aria cums around him, they’re absolutely ethereal. He can’t tear his eyes away, not when he knows this might be the last time in a long time that he’ll get to see this, do this. His name is like a prayer falling from Aria’s tongue, and each moan is music to his ears, another hymn to record. He rolls into them, again and again, slow as he can to drag it all out as long as he can.

They’ll be here for hours if he gets what he wants, and Asmodeus _always_ gets what he wants.


End file.
